


The Mystery of the Flower Bouquet

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Admissions, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, F/M, Falling In Love, Flower Bouquets and why you should never trust Essosi markets, Flowers, Fluff, I always try, JB banter, Ren Ronnet may not be actively there but he is still a douche, Romance, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, as much as I could manage, even though they take a while to get there, look at all the tags!!!, office life, raraulala trying to think of tags, with a wee bit of angst... because past experiences... poor baby Brie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Brienne comes to the office - only to be surprised by a certain gift.On Valentine's Day.And with it come bad memories - and awkward situations.And where is Jaime when you need him for once?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [december13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/december13/gifts).



> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thanks for looking into this story. 
> 
> This is written as part of the JB Valentine's Ficlet Challenge... though the length should tell that this is hardly a ficlet, but a wholesome set of JB Valentine's Madness. I love madness. 
> 
> I gift this to december13, because I was already gifted by her - and JB Valentine's Madness should be a gift that gives on giving. Much love! ♥
> 
> As usual: I am no native, I got no beta... so I own all my mistakes safe for those I blame my English teachers for. Because they are totally at fault. 
> 
> Please enjoy! ♥♥♥

Brienne tries her best to focus on doing the reports that are due today, she _really_ does.

Just that it’s _not_ working.

_At all._

It’s simply no use: Whenever Brienne puts the pen down on the paper to fill out the blanks, her eyes inevitably go back to that foreign object on her desk, sending small bolts of electricity up the spine, all the way to the root of her hairs.

_That parasitic creature._

“Brienne? Do you have the reports done yet or are you still hissing at the flower bouquet?” Sansa calls out as she waltzes inside, her skirt bouncing with every step she takes.

“I am _not_ hissing at it,” Brienne grumbles, eyes still fixed on the foreign object that awaited her once she came into the office, and since then took control over her mind, or perhaps her life, even.

“You know, most other people would be happy about that, or _are_ happy about that. After all, it’s Valentine’s Day!” Sansa argues, walking over to her desk, chuckling.

There are those moments when Brienne envies Sansa’s jovial, outgoing, girlish nature as she does her runs through the office to collect the reports or whatever other files need to be taken care of. But other times, she would rather just have the young Stark woman… anywhere else but her office when she is _just_ that.

Especially when Brienne’s mind is focused on something quite different from small talk.

_Such as that parasitic entity with carnations and gladioluses!_

Brienne sighs as she puts down the pen, holding out the papers to her. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. The reports are done now, though.”

“Will you tell me who sent them?” Sansa asks as she takes the stack from her to hold against her chest with the sweetest of smiles, her eyes hinting at the bouquet.

“I would if I knew,” Brienne sighs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sansa frowns.

“There was no card attached. I don’t know who sent it,” Brienne explains. “So there is no way I can tell you – even if I wanted to.”

Not that Brienne would want to even if she knew, though. However, that is something Sansa doesn’t have to know, of course.

“Oh, a secret lover! How exciting,” Sansa almost squeals, clapping her hands together closely in front of her chest so that the papers don’t fall down.

“I don’t have secret lovers,” Brienne grounds out.

 _You have seen my face, haven’t you_? she means to add, but then doesn’t.

Sansa is sometimes really too good for this world – believing that Brienne of Tarth of all people would come to have secret lovers.

_Yeah, right. And Cersei **doesn’t** have an alcohol problem everyone is aware of but just doesn’t mention out of piety. _

“Not that you know,” Sansa argues. “But hey, you have plenty of time to find out later the evening.”

“Why exactly?” Brienne asks, her lips curling into an uncertain grimace.

She doesn’t like the sound of that, at all.

“Valentine’s Party?”

“Does this company celebrate every damn holiday there is?” Brienne grunts, running her hand over her face to ease out some of the tension – without success, however.

“Apparently?” Sansa chuckles, rolling her shoulders.

“And let me guess, I don’t get around it, do I?” Brienne exhales, already knowing the answer to that one.

“Not really. But honestly? See it as a chance to find your secret admirer,” Sansa suggests. “All guys from the office are going to be there!”

“If you expect me to go around and ask people if they sent me the flowers, you are gravely mistaken. I’d only end up making a joke of myself,” Brienne replies. “And trust me in this, I rather _die_ than personally help my reputation to get any worse.”

Brienne is aware that most people still judge her for matters of her looks and height. In fact, she grew long since accustomed to the fact. What did Goodwin always say? That people will always underestimate her. That turned out true, but that also turned out to be a factor Brienne could turn into something positive. Because that means you can easily surpass people’s expectations to open their eyes to the reality that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover or size.

Nevertheless, Brienne hates the whispers and looks she gets from a good number of people around the office, and she is not eager for giving them more fuel. They think her a thing of ridiculousness anyway. Having her roam around in search for a secret lover that isn’t there is most likely not going to break up the image of her as someone who is “desperate” and a “pathetic”, ugly woman who just can’t seem to grasp that there are only few guys who are up for that _challenge_.

“You just have to be discreet about these things, Brienne,” Sansa argues, snapping the older woman’s attention back to the office. “You know, feed it into the conversation as you talk to the men. Get the information out of them indirectly. There are so many things you can do without men noticing it. Trust me. It's easy!”

“That is apparently a talent I don't come to have,” Brienne argues, offering a weary smile. “In contrast to you.”

“Well, ever the more reason to start trying. I mean, the love of your life may be right within this office and you wouldn’t even know!” Sansa calls out, her excitement most definitely getting the better of her right at this stage.

Though Brienne can’t blame her. Sansa is a pretty, young girl who is about as naïve as she is sweet and kind. How would the Stark girl know of the troubles of a modern-day beast roaming through the offices? Brienne is sure Sansa has her own set of troubles – but _those_ are not her concerns for sure.

“You watch way too many cheap romantic comedies, Sansa. That’s not how it works in real life,” Brienne tells her, shaking her head.

“Tells me the woman with a secret admirer,” the younger woman snorts, nodding at the flower bouquet another time.

“The reports,” Brienne says, nodding at the papers in turn.

Sansa rolls her eyes, but then flashes a smile as she turns to leave. “I will see you at the party!”

“Reports. Now,” Brienne urges her.

And with that, Sansa whooshes out the door, the skirt bouncing perhaps even a bit more, leaving Brienne back to her office and the _parasitic entity_ that now comes to share this private space with her.

Brienne sighs as she twists around in her chair. This is _utterly_ ridiculous. That’s not how it is supposed to be. _At all._ She’s had enough of that back in high school.

Brienne groans at the thought. Why does she always bring that back to mind? High school is over. Brienne smacked Ronnet for it so hard that he saw stars, and that should have been the end of it.

_Well, it **should** have been. _

Sadly, a lot of things that _should_ _be_ just _aren’t_.

Way too often Brienne catches herself thinking about things that likely no one other than Ronnet remembers these days. In fact, Brienne supposes hardly anyone even remembers her these days if she were to meet some former schoolmates. Safe for that incident with Ronnet… and that one time with Humfrey Wagstaff, the asshole. Though both deserved what they got in her humble opinion – and Brienne never came to regret what she did.

But other than that? Brienne is pretty sure that she faded from public memory.

Just that the public memory didn’t fade out of her, or so it seems, no matter how much distance Brienne tries to put between herself and the girl she was back in high school, actually “desperate” and “pathetic” in all the ways that matter, getting high on the mere thought that a guy might be into her that she let her defenses down completely, which is the equivalent of drawing a target right on her forehead.

_What a foolish thing that was._

Because she should have known better, Brienne knows now.

_As if Ronnet would take you out for the Valentine’s Dance, Brienne. What were you thinking? You should have known better than that._

Because hormone-driven teenagers are even less capable of seeing past the blemishes of the looks than grown men. And even of those, there are way too many incapable of seeing past her looks, no matter how _mature_ they are supposed to be.

And deep down, Brienne knew that, already back in high school, when she was still into girly things, not comprehending that people frowned at her for just that reason as well. Already due to the unhappy circumstance that her Septa always rubbed it under her nose. That men wouldn’t ever want Brienne for matters of her looks or because she is bright in character.

But the Brienne from back in high school ignored all these things, all these signs and clues, as she held that rose close to her flat chest as though it was a national treasure, believing Ronnet to be the prince she dreamed of to sweep her off her feet to carry her into a better life, or well… he was not strong enough for _that_ , but perhaps offer her a hand?

The Brienne from back in high school wanted to please, wanted to appeal, wanted to convince people of herself, that she was more than her looks, that she was lovable against the odds of being freakish tall, mannish, and flat-chested, wanted to belong somewhere, _to someone_.

So, that incisive Valentine’s Day, Brienne hopped the train without a second of a thought and hoped it’d take her to that happier place she kept envisioning as she re-read her fairytales and romance novels she was so deeply invested in by the time.

The Brienne from today now knows that she can’t and mustn’t wait for a Prince Charming to turn up on her doorsteps to pick her up and carry her into a better life, but instead has to scramble all the way by herself. That she has to rely on herself _alone_. The Brienne of today doesn’t dream away into sweet fantasies of secret lovers giving out red roses to win a woman’s favor the likes of Brienne of Tarth. Instead, the Brienne of today is eager on getting her life straight to the best of her abilities, climbing the job ladder, convincing people not of herself but her skills.

And most of the time, Brienne thinks she fares _pretty_ well.

But then there are those days when she feels just like she is back in high school.

And as it seems, today is such a day.

Because she feels the itching sensation back in her nose that she felt ever since that incident back in high school, having grown allergic to flowers, or so it seemed.

_Or maybe just to humiliation and lies._

Brienne sighs another time. She sighed a lot today.

Here she thought it’d be like any other day at the office, with its usual madnesses, only to come into her room with that _abnormality_ on her desk, and Sansa assuring her that the delivery guy _specifically_ asked for her office, and no one else’s, which ruled out any chance for Brienne to make herself believe that this was just a misunderstanding, a wrong delivery, a bouquet meant for one of the women around the office who are perceived as deserving of flowers and songs.

The likes of Sansa Stark or Margaery Tyrell.

_But most definitely not the likes of Brienne of Tarth._

Just that apparently, that bouquet was meant for her. And now Brienne doesn’t know what to make of that anonymous present or perhaps sign of genuine affection… in the shape of the parasitic entity disrupting her little sphere of normalcy or _controllable chaos_ , at least.

Brienne looks around, tapping her fingers on the tabletop nervously.

_Just where is that asshole of a co-worker when you need him for once?_

Jaime was nowhere to be seen ever since she got to the office – and it’s his advice, _for once in a lifetime_ , she’d need the most right now. He knows these kinds of things. And apparently, Jaime is one of the few men Brienne knows who’ll be honest to her, even if it hurts. Something that Brienne took her time to appreciate, but does by now.

Not that this makes Jaime less of an asshole, though.

_Because he is._

Half the time, they want to kill each other. As for the rest, it’s _almost_ trying to kill each other.

_Especially as of late._

Because Brienne had started to bring herself to listen to Jaime’s advices on dating and the like some time back, _if only occasionally_.

Or else that man’s ego would have exploded into Lannister red and golden confetti.

Jaime seems to believe himself a strange version of a love guru, so he took up on the task at once, or rather, just went ahead to do it, even if Brienne didn’t ever ask him for it.  

Brienne even dared to date some men she made the acquaintance of in some bars or cafés lately, trying to follow at least some of the advices from Jaime she deemed reasonable enough, and if she is not mistaken, that only led to Jaime’s growing agitation these days, _for whatever the reason now_.

_After all, the self-proclaimed love guru should feel like he achieved his mission. Not so with Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister, however._

And that even though she simply does what Jaime asked of her, advised her to do, actually, stating that he took it upon himself to teach her “the ways of the other sex”, the “mysteries” and “secrets of men’s psyche”, the “depths of men’s minds – or the lack thereof”, so she would finally understand these kinds of things – and “make less of a fool” of herself if attempting to flirt or date.

Not that Brienne was particularly pleased about that. In fact, she was very _pissed_ about it.

Because Jaime bathes in the feeling of being the one in charge, the one on top, and that not only over at the gym for their weekly MMA sessions. He just loves the feeling of superiority.

_Seems to run in the family._

But no matter how much he annoys her – because Jaime really, _really_ does – he is one of the few people whom she can talk to about these things, and get an honest reply in turn.

No matter how much Brienne cares about Sansa, no matter how much she appreciates it that Margaery is always so kind to her, they will be polite when Brienne would rather do without, if only to gain a clearer picture of the situation, of herself. They will sugarcoat things in ways that Jaime _never_ would.

He doesn’t even bother calling her normal nicknames, having adapted “wench” as a “pet name” for her, no matter her constant objections.

And while sometimes, alright, _oftentimes_ , she curses him for it, Jaime is honest with her, and Brienne knows that’s rare enough a gift, specifically since there are those private moments when there is no jest in his voice and Jaime simply tells her things that she wouldn’t ever have thought could travel past the oldest Lannister son’s lips, until they do, without prelude, without warning:

“That guy is playing you. Don't waste your time with him. He is not worth it. At all.”

“If you don’t appreciate yourself, how is someone else supposed to?”

“You should wear more blue, it goes well with your eyes.”

But sadly, Jaime is nowhere to be found now that Brienne, for once, would require his assistance.

_Maybe he called in sick to bypass Valentine’s Madness?_

Brienne knows that Jaime is not too fond of the holiday – for neither is she – after both moaned simultaneously when someone dared to suggest that they should do _Secret Valentines_ and write cards in heart-shape to some random person in the office to make them feel “Valentine’s Spirit”.

In fact, Brienne felt oddly happy about the circumstance of having found someone who shared the sentiment regarding the matter. She always felt like someone who was just bitter due to past experiences – or a spoilsport who just never got the magic behind it. So the fact that Jaime Lannister, who is not socially awkward by any means, shared the sentiment made her feel less like it, for which she was very glad.

As Jaime pointed out to her, “That holiday was blown up by the industry. I mean, you really think St. Valentine had pink teddy bears and heart-shaped candies tasting like crap with a bit of mint in mind back in the day? Yeah no, if you have someone you like, you shouldn’t just wait for a holiday to make that known. Everyone else does it the same way! How unique does that make your confession?”

Brienne sighs as she leans her head on her folded arms, extending a shaky index finger to reach out to the flower bouquet slash parasitic entity haunting her office.

 _What if it is really just a joke again?_ she thinks to herself bitterly, allowing her finger to dance over the soft, smooth surface of the moonbloom’s petals. _What if this is just like it was back in high school, with Ronnet?_

Because the last time such a thing happened, Brienne hid in the locker rooms and her father had to come pick her up because she wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how much more that put her to shame.

And Brienne can’t have history repeat itself in just that way.

She is no longer the Brienne from back in high school. She can’t be. Mustn’t.

_Just why didn’t that asshole include a stupid card? A hint? Something? Anything!_

Then she would at least have something to work with, something to figure out. If that guy looked at her in a different way, if he was laughing at her a lot… But _no_ , instead she lingers in Valentine’s Limbo.

_Great, just great. Surely what St. Valentine had in mind._

Brienne glances over to the bullpen in front of her, only separated by a wall of glass as people keep roaming around.

Any of these people could have inserted the parasitic entity into her office. Seven Hells, there isn’t even a sure way to tell that this wasn’t done by some of the women around the company, as a funny joke. Women can be even worse than men at times, Brienne knows that much from experience, too.

It could be any of these people – or someone who doesn’t even work here?

Brienne blows out air through her nostrils.

Maybe Sansa _did_ have a point after all.

Just that Brienne is by no means out to find “true love” or her “secret admirer” to readily fall into his arms likely the way Sansa has it in mind.

 _No, this will be an investigation_ , Brienne decides.

A dry, professional investigation without feelings involved, to solve the mystery of the flower bouquet without a card.

The hint of a smile flashes across her face as the idea keeps forming inside her head. For that, Brienne doesn’t need Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister. She can do that by herself… _for sure_.

And just like that, the smile vanishes.

She will have to talk to people and be discreet about her true intentions. When in fact, Brienne never mastered the arts of smoothly extracting vital information from people around her.

For that, she has Jaime!

Just that this pest seems to hide today. Or maybe he just keeps himself busy to escape the madness Brienne finds herself stuck in now.

She just hopes that he will show up for the party. Then maybe she can convince him to help her investigate. Jaime loves those kinds of games. While Tyrion is the most passionate about these things, Jaime is good reading people, and he rarely wastes an opportunity to hone that skill.

_Or to show off._

Or maybe he has some insider information that could help her? Jaime knows so many people… maybe he knows something? Heard a rumor, a whisper?

 _He better be there_ , Brienne thinks to herself, her eyes drifting back to the bouquet another time, narrowing her eyes at the thing.

* * *

 

Evening arrives far faster than Brienne hoped it would – because there is still no sign of Jaime, and for once, she needs that nag by her side, Seven Hells.

One of the larger conference rooms was transformed into a tacky Valentine’s décor display, with festoons in heart-shapes in all shades of pink, red light that could compete with any establishment down Silk Street, red-colored punch, pink straws with glittery threads wobbling around whenever you move the straw to stir the punch, the Top 10 of worst romantic songs in endless loop, and a lingering smell of chocolates, mints, cherry juice, and artificial strawberry flavor that makes up a third of the punch, the other two thirds consisting of alcohol and sugar.

But that is the least of Brienne’s concerns.

The much more pressing issue is that she has now all possible suspects working at the office assembled in one room – and she has no clue how to go about it to get the truth out of either one of them.

Instead, she lingers in one of the corners, sipping that way too sweet, way too artificially tasting punch, hoping that somehow her social awkwardness will fade away by some strange miracle to make it possible for her to get the truths she needs.

_Just where is Jaime? Did the bastard get around it? And if he did – how dare he escape without me?_

Jaime should know how she feels about this mess. And that coming from a man who claims himself to be a “knight at heart who happened to be born into the wrong era – and family for the matter”, is an extremely ungallant move.

Not that this would change anything much about the parasite still residing in her office, or the knot in Brienne’s stomach as she’d ponder the possibilities even if she had been fortunate enough to find a passable excuse to slip away from the party.

But at least Jaime would be here, then. And she could talk to him about these things.

Because Jaime is one of the few people she is comfortable talking to – in the worst ways possible.

Brienne rarely found herself cursing and yelling at a man the way she did when she began working at the office. Well, technically, Brienne _still_ does it, but back when she started out at the company, it was much, _much_ worse. Brienne wanted to jump across the table half the time to choke the smug smile and lewd comments at her expenses out of Jaime. These days, she still wants to punch him often enough, but the intensity is no longer up to 200% the whole time, as was the case in the beginning of her time here.  

However, at some point Brienne can no longer pinpoint, she realized something strangely liberating about it. Upon reflection, it was likely that one time the two went out to get lunch together, as they regularly do, in that little café close to the company – because the canteen food could be made by the Rat Cook for all they know.

Brienne was busy with her deli – and being angry at him for yet another round of “let’s tease the wench”, as he calls it, wherein Jaime will make off-hand comments until she blushes furiously, kicks him under the table, or rushes off, if not all of the aforementioned together – only to have him rush after her in turn. Brienne cannot say anymore just what she said to him, but it was way below the belt, that much she remembers, and for a moment Brienne was shocked at herself for the straightforwardness and attitude she otherwise completely lacks with which the insult came.

She looked at Jaime, expecting him to feel hurt for real for once, only to have him break out laughing and congratulating her on the comeback.

And that was the moment she unconsciously seemed to have grasped that with Jaime, she could talk about almost anything, in almost every way possible. When Brienne snaps, he snaps back, or Jaime ends up laughing. When she tries a joke, he is the one person to actually laugh at the futile attempt. And when Brienne is really serious about something, there is almost instantly a change in his tone, his voice, once Jaime knows this is truly no joking matter to her.

Well, but he isn’t here now to give her that bit of security that she’d desperately need to carry on with her investigation.

 _He is definitely going to get hell for this_ , Brienne vows to herself, her eyes darting across the room.

There is no way of helping it anymore anyway, though. So she has no other choice but to do things the way she is used to, without anyone’s help, all by herself, even at the risk of making a fool of herself.

It’s not like this is unfamiliar to Brienne. In fact, it’s more unfamiliar to have someone help her out – because the only person around here who does… is _Jaime_.

_Who is not here, the asshole._

Brienne gulps up the remains of her strawberry-like tasting punch before she makes her way into the crowd of dancing people who are getting increasingly more intoxicated.

That may be to her advantage, however. Normally, alcohol will loosen up people’s tongues, and perhaps smooth out some of her clumsiness for them in turn.

Brienne reckons the best way of going about it is to take “the usual suspects” first, so that’d be Hyle Hunt and Tormund – she always forgets his last name, something with bone, was sit?

Brienne just can’t think of him in any other way but that one time she went to the canteen to get a not totally disgusting salad, only to have him sit down across her and make a show of it of eating of the daily special of mutton leg in red arbor sauce in what he likely perceived was a flirting manner. When in fact, all Brienne was concerned about was not choking on her salad in disgust. She just always seems to attract a) trouble, and b) weird people.

_Apparently, Jaime Lannister is the acquaintance of my life applying to both._

Brienne empties the last drops of the awful punch, puts it down on the table with a loud clink, and then starts towards her first target – Hyle.

Yet another source of high school drama she would rather forget about, though she came to terms with him, well, sort of. Back in school, he and some of his buddies started a wager on who’d manage to convince Brienne first of having sex with what would then be the winner of the jackpot.

If the thing with Ronnet didn’t already shatter her remaining self-confidence, this was the equivalent to a kick in the stomach to leave her whimpering on the ground.

Their class teacher by the time, Mr. Tarly, was the one who broke the news to her, after he overheard them talking about it in the gym locker room. He sent all of them to the principal, which earned them a long round of detention.

However, the more shattering thing for her was that the teacher told her that it was her own fault that she got herself into that situation. Because, by the time, Brienne had joined almost every sports club at school there was. After she gave up on the girly things for the most part and focused on something she enjoyed all the same, but that she thought would be less frowned upon, granted that she is very athletic.

In fact, even the teachers and coaches had to realize that she was extremely good in a lot of sports – apparently good enough that a lot put her on the boys’ teams for the training, if not for the official competitions.

And according to her class teacher, she never should have agreed to that because that only tempts teenagers like Hyle and his friends. That something like that had to happen. For a moment, Brienne considered quitting her newly found training schedule, but then decided against it, figuring that if she caught the guys doing such a thing again, she’d know how to knock them into the dust.

It was quite a shock to run into him at the company years later. And to Brienne’s understanding, the shock was mutual. At first, Brienne didn’t even know how to talk to him. While she kept her head held high at all times, something that she learned over the years, Brienne still found herself hiding away, until they had to work on a project together, that is. That left her with no choice but to talk about it. Hyle apologized another time for what happened back in high school in his own clumsy way – which involved instantly flirting with her, which Brienne did not appreciate. And for Brienne, that was what made her put it to rest, just like she tried to put everything revolving high school to rest.

However, Hyle has been flirting a number of times, well, if you can call it flirting.

So maybe that was his clumsy way of furthering his advances?

Brienne walks the last steps over to him, offering a grimace she hopes passes for a smile. “Hey. Uhm, enjoying the party?”

Hyle snaps his head around to her, blinking, before he flashes a lazy smile. “Oh, of course. Now that you are here ever the more, eh?”

Brienne cocks an eyebrow and tries her best not to make a grimace that would give away her game. Just like she has to try hard not to smack herself for not knowing how to enter conversations in a smooth way.

“Well, if everyone comes, there’s not much you can do but tag along, right?” Brienne replies. “And after all, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Ha, that's true. If the decoration didn’t give that hint already. Was really surprised to see you here, though. I thought you were freaked out by Valentine’s Day in general or something.”

“Freaked out?” Brienne frowns. She is aware that she was vocal about not enjoying that particular event every now and then, but freaked out in general? No, that only began once that ominous bouquet took over her office.

“Well, you kept saying that you didn’t like the holiday. Ha, you actually already did back in high school. Remember?! I’ve never seen a teenage girl pout like that about something that should get you all excited.”

_If only he knew…_

“I just don’t like what some people tend to make out of it, I guess… and… you? Do you… like Valentine’s Day?” Brienne asks, suppressing any urge not to smack herself across the forehead for that question.

“Oh, it’s nice. You know, the party’s always a highlight.”

“Well, it’s a good distraction from… work, I suppose.”

Though Jaime told her that the only reason why the company hosts these meetings is for matters of prestige. “Don't trust the sweetness of their punch, wench. It’s all filled with lies and wishes of furthering one’s wealth. They just utilize the romance of romance to somehow cover up the fact that they are sharks eating little baby fishes. All just so that no one realizes the lion is about to ram its claws into yet another company to shred. We do the work of the Seven, didn’t you know?”

“Oh, I _love_ distractions.”

“I… bet,” Brienne says with a frown, unsure what to do next.

_Damn you, Jaime, just where are you?!_

“Man, you really have to loosen up a bit, woman. You’re way too stiff. It’s a party! Maybe you should have another drink? I really think you should!”

“I don’t think I…,” Brienne says, only to have another plastic cup in her hand. She frowns at the thing for a long moment. “How did you have a fresh one? I mean… I hope that is a fresh one and not just a random one someone else just abandoned?”

“Oh, no worries. Wouldn’t ever do such a thing, would I?”

No, you do other things…

“I’ve gotten myself a little stock. The stuff turns more awful the further the evening progresses because they just tend to fill it up with whatever they can find. So, drink away, woman, c’mon!”

He holds out his cup to her. Brienne frowns, but then taps her cup against his, though it only makes a small squishing sound.

“Oh yeah, that’s good stuff, good stuff.”

“You actually like it? I mean… it’s really sweet.”

“Ha, I like sweet things. I love sweet things indeed.”

And that is when Brienne sees all that she has to see to make a first educated guess: Hyle’s mouth almost waters as Amy passes by in her way-too-short skirt. If he had sent the flowers, he’d likely at least make an effort to hide it – because that is what he’s usually done for all she can remember.

“Maybe you should ask Amy for a dance before you get too drunk on the punch,” Brienne says. Hyle frowns at her. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, you know, getting a bit more distracted. Catch you later,” Brienne says, quickly turning away.

Or not.

She whirls around to scan the room for the next candidate on her list. If it isn’t Tormund, then it’s very likely no one from the office. Not that this helps her in solving the mystery, then, but at least it will be less humiliation, the way she reckons.

Brienne can spot him gladly alone not far away from her.

_Might just as well get over with it._

She starts to walk over to the man, though for _some_ reason, she feels something cold running down her spine, making her momentarily shiver.

_Maybe it’s a sugar shock, who knows?_

Brienne shakes herself once as she covers the rest of the distance. Once Tormund recognizes her, he instantly invades her personal space and pulls her to him in a grandeur gesture. Brienne tries her best just stay still – she made the experience with interns coming from Beyond the Wall that they are just… a different kind of people.

“Ha, good to see you! People already said you wouldn’t come!” he says, finally pulling away from her.

“Someone seriously talked about me not coming?” Brienne frowns. She can’t imagine that anyone even cares if she is there for such gatherings. Brienne can proudly announce that she has a respected position at the office due to her hard work now, but she is very much aware of the circumstance that this doesn’t mean that you are suddenly popular.

“Well, not really, but I feared you wouldn’t come,” the red-haired man replies, flashing a toothy smile.

“Well, uhm, I don’t know if I am going to stay for long.”

“Oh, you must, you must!”

_Because… he sent a bouquet and wants to keep talking…? Oh Seven Hells!_

At this rate, she will figure this out some time next year!

“We’ll have to see,” Brienne replies, licking her lips. “So… uhm, can I ask you a question?”

“Oh, you can ask me whatever you want, girl,” Tormund tells her, flashing a lazy sort of smile, seemingly flattered at her wanting to learn more about him.

“I am… just _curious_ … how do you celebrate Valentine’s Day in the areas Beyond the Wall? Is it the same as in the Seven Kingdoms or… are there some _unique_ traditions? Are there things… you _don’t_ … do as we do them here?” Brienne asks, hoping that this will give her something to work with, without attacking the issue straight-on.

“Ha, oh, of course we have our own traditions,” Tormund announces proudly, standing up straighter to show off his broad chest a bit more. “We have a long and proud history.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, where to begin… well, first of all, we normally celebrate _later_ in the year, when it’s not as icy. You know how it is further up North, right? Well, the ice and snow won’t melt, obviously, but if you want to celebrate the day of love, you should pick a day where body parts don't fall off if exposed to the cold,” the red-haired man says, making… some _very_ clear gestures on tops.

Brienne opens her mouth to reply, but then doesn’t, instead, she flashes an uncertain, embarrassed grimace. She knows that man is rather… _direct_ , but… it never ceases to amaze her just _how_ blunt he can be at times.

As Jaime once remarked one evening when they worked overtime to wrap up an important project for the company, somewhere between a lot of nonsense talking, jesting, tantrums, and Pentoshi Takeaway: “That fellow may be a sharp knife in his field of expertise, but he is as blunt as a spoon when it comes to talking to the other sex. To me, it’s still a miracle that guy ever got laid once he crept out of the North.”

And at this point, Brienne starts to ask herself the same question. Just like the wish in her grows stronger and stronger with every second passing that Tormund is not the one who sent the flowers.

Because how do you politely tell such a man that you are not interested, _at all_? He’d likely see even _that_ as a way of flirting, judging by his other… _techniques_ Brienne got to see up to this point.

She tries hard not to groan. Just what did she maneuver herself into yet again? At the same time, if he is the one who sent the flowers, the mystery is at least solved. Then she can work on solutions to get out of this mess.

But so long she doesn’t know if he sent the flowers, the nagging feeling in the back of her neck remains that there might be someone sniggering behind her back by making up a secret admirer. Or there might be someone out there who means it in all earnest, but she wouldn’t know because she cannot tell who it may be.

Either of those options has something threatening, frightening almost, the more she ponders those possibilities.

_Yeah, no, it's decided: Valentine’s Day should be forbidden._

“So yeah, that’s already one big difference, I suppose. That’s why I started putting the date down in my calendar, you see? Wouldn’t want to forget that important day, right? Well, ya know, we stick to the very old traditions in that regard. And back in the day, our ancestors would declare their feelings to the woman they wanted to make love to by…,” Tormund says, but then stops, a frown forming on his face.

Brienne can suddenly feel someone standing behind her. She turns her head slowly

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“Ha, Lannister, didn’t think I’d see ya around! Normally, your family tries its best to fly above us, huh?” Tormund calls out, laughing throatily.

Brienne can do nothing but stare at Jaime as he comes to stand next to her – surprisingly… _close_ to her. She is no longer as unfamiliar to having him close to her, after all, they regularly wrestle on the mats in the gym, but there is something entirely different about his behavior right now.

His posture, stance, and facial expression, they are all so foreign yet strangely familiar all the same, though Brienne can’t put her finger on it. He is still in his work clothes, a fine business suit as she knows Jaime to wear them, though he seems to have left his suit jacket somewhere, standing there only in a slightly buttoned-down white shirt, and suit trousers with shiny black shoes. He leans slightly forward, his lips forming a soundless snarl. His long hair falls into his face in thick strands, making him look befitting of his nickname of the Lion of Lannister.

_But why would he do that?_

It’s not like Tormund insulted her or so. While Brienne can defend herself _very_ well, she caught Jaime more than once “protecting her honor”, as he named it whenever she asked him what got into him to start defending her, regardless of the fact that he knows that she can very well do that herself.

He was _that_ close to punching Vargo Hoat and his oh so brave companions of _Bolton Enterprise_ after they made some really way below the belt comments regarding her. Once he heard it, Jaime was instantly in the man’s face and demanded a formal apology from him and his friends if they wanted to continue the Lannister-Bolton business alliance that was still in the making by the time.

Brienne had to try hard not to break out laughing when Vargo Hoat was having none of it and Jaime just went ahead to interrupt him whenever he spoke, mimicking his lisp until Vargo angrily stormed off.

But Tormund is by no means Vargo Hoat the Goat, as Jaime refers to him since, so why is Jaime so on edge?

“Well, I had other plans, I will admit, but those were apparently cancelled,” Jaime says, giving Brienne a stern look she doesn’t know how to put.

How is she supposed to help it that he got ditched or… whatever else it may be?

And why exactly is he here now?

And why is he interrupting their conversation?

“Aw, got ditched on Valentine’s Day, Lannister? Ha, didn't think that’d happen to the like of ya. As pretty as you are!” Tormund says, clapping him on the shoulder with his meaty hand. Jaime looks at the limb for a long moment, before carefully removing the Tormund’s hand from his shoulder.

“It’s always good to know that you think I’m pretty,” Jaime says, offering a faux smile. “So, you two seem to enjoy each other about alright, I assume?”

“Oh, ya know, having conversation, exchanging stories,” Tormund says. “Hopefully more soon enough. After all, it’s Valentine’s Day, aye?”

“Mhmmm,” Jaime hums with a grimace. “A day one _must_ celebrate.”

Brienne just stares at him. Jaime’s behavior has been odd lately. That’s not the thing, but this just now? It seems like he is trying to _challenge_ Tormund, when in fact she knows that Jaime doesn’t consider him any sort of competition in the first place. He told her several times that Tormund is not even worth getting furious over when he is yet again to slow on the uptake when he is supposed to perform a new task.

“I used to get worked up over his slow pace, but then I realized that this is all he can do… so… well, I just accepted that he will always stay at that level. Why get mad about this every damn time when I know it won’t change, right?” he told Brienne back then as they were having dinner over at their favorite café and discussed the working climate in the company, which _obviously_ ebbed into gossiping about the other colleagues.

 _But now_? Now Jaime looks like he wants to put Tormund in a headlock.

“So, _Brienne_ , I wasn’t expecting you to be at that… _lovely_ gathering,” Jaime then says, pulling her out of her thoughts as his eyes almost seem to pierce through her. “I was quite surprised to see you here.”

“I… had some business to attend,” Brienne replies curtly, still trying to make sense of Jaime, though that project seems to be futile at this point – she’d actually need Jaime to tell her.

In any case, she isn’t going to openly address the actual reason for her attending the party when the man who potentially sent the bouquet stands right in front of her, even less so in front of a whole bunch of people who may well listen in on their conversation.

Brienne would have told Jaime in private, but she will not make this public in front of him, no way. Then she rather has him pouting like a teenager – for whatever the reason now. Because she still fails to figure.

“ _Business_? What business would that be?” Jaime keeps pressing. “I mean… what _business_ is there anyway, at a party?”

“ _Personal_ business. Nothing that has to concern you, really,” Brienne tells him, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Oh… well, alright, then. _Ms. Tarth_ is having personal business to bring to a party,” Jaime says, tilting his head, still looking as though she just said something offensive.

But Brienne has had enough.

“Uhm, Tormund, I am incredibly sorry, but I think _Mr. Lannister_ is not very subtly trying to tell me that he wants to have a private conversation. If you excused us for a moment?” Brienne says, forcing the brightest smile she can muster, though gladly, Tormund doesn’t seem too wounded at it. Instead, he smiles at her briefly, before his eyes follow… a woman’s short skirt.

It seems like Hyle and Tormund have a whole lot in common. They’d probably make good friends.

Brienne shakes her head, simply grasping Jaime by the wrist to pull him along. He waves at Tormund with a wicked sort of grin as she keeps dragging him after her.

“Knock that off!” Brienne snarls, baring her teeth.

Much to her surprise, his expression turns very sour once he turns back around to her. As though she was the one at fault here!

She only stops once they are outside the party room, standing in the now empty, dimly lit bullpen. The colors of the fluorescent light paints their skins in cooler colors now, the shadows smoothing out some of the remaining edges, creating a strange sort of space containing only them as the party carries on inside the rom, the music dimly resonating through the bullpen.

“Okay, so now… would you have the piety to explain to me just who of the Seven has gotten into you to act the way you did back in there?” Brienne snaps.

“I don’t think it’s one of the Seven, really,” Jaime retorts.

“Do I have to understand that?” Brienne asks, blinking, trying her best not to just knock him in the back of the head to snap him out of this.

“I am still wondering why you act like you don’t,” he says, his face a tight grimace.

“Because… I _don’t_? For all _I_ know, you just crashed this party, interrupted my conversation…,” she means to say, only to have him cut her off, “With Tormund whatever his last name may be. Yeah, I’m aware. I bet you’ve had truly _stimulating_ discussions with that wildling fellow with the beard.”

“And what if I did? What does it matter if I talk to one of my colleagues?”

“He was trying to hit on you, in case you didn’t notice,” Jaime tells her.

“… So?!” Brienne blurts out, still trying to make sense of his angry grimace, angry words… simply his anger boiling beneath his skin to the point that there is the finest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“So? _SO_?” he asks, almost barks towards the end. Jaime takes a few steps back, turning around on the back of the heel, clutching his golden hair, fuming.

Brienne shakes her head, blinking.

_Just what is going on here?_

“Okay, I’ll bite: What is going on with you as of late? You have been acting all kinds of weird these past few weeks. Tonight seems to be a new low, but I would just like to know what the Seven Hells your problem is?” Brienne snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose.

She has other things to worry about, _Seven Hells_. Such as finding out about that stupid bouquet! So she can finally move on with life instead of jumping back and forth between high school memories she tries to forget or having them reform themselves to threaten her newly built and appreciated reality of working an adult job without any of that teenage nonsense and bullying.

“My problem is that you seem to have forgotten yet again any advice I gave you,” Jaime retorts.

“Care to remind me which one you are referring to? I seem to have forgotten,” Brienne hisses.

“Never settle with someone below yourself? Rings a bell? That guy’s not at all worth you,” Jaime declares, folding his arms in front of his chest defensively.

“Aha, it’s good to know that you decide that for me,” Brienne snaps, narrowing her eyes at him. “Then I don’t have to bother to think! Thank you _so_ much, Jaime! Because apparently, whenever I talk to a guy, I want to have sex with him!”

“You don't want to have sex with him?” Jaime asks.

_Is he seriously asking that right now?_

“Why are we discussing the possibilities of me wanting to have sex with _that_ man of all people?!” Brienne retorts angrily. “Look, I was merely talking to Tormund, until you interrupted it like… I don’t even have the words for it! All I know is that you were absolutely impolite and over the line towards him _and_ me! And you should be aware that it’s not your friggin’ business whom I am talking to!”

“In my defense, this was actually meant to save you,” Jaime goes on to say. Brienne opens her mouth in reply, but no sound comes out at first, instead only a short, sharp intake of air.

However, once she gathered herself again, she sets her jaw and replies, “First of all, I don’t need you to save me, and secondly, save me from _what_? Having conversation with Tormund?! _I_ was the one who initiated the conversation, Jaime.”

She hopes that this will somehow snap Jaime out of his frenzy, but far from it. He seems even more shocked, and the shock seems to ebb into fury with every second passing. “Wait… you… _wow_. You don’t even try to pretend, huh? I mean… I guess I should have known that you wouldn’t put up an act, but… man, that’s tough.”

“What are you talking about?!” Brienne almost shrieks, though she tries her best to keep her voice leveled so not to draw anyone’s attention to them.

“You saying that to my face right now!” Jaime says, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

_Though it’s not!_

“What have I said that would upset you?” Brienne asks, honestly at a loss now.

“That you even went ahead to talk to the guy, but you don’t even bother calling off our date,” Jaime retorts. Brienne looks at him for a long moment, trying to process the information.

“Our… _date_? We don’t have a date. It’s Friday. We don’t meet on Fridays. We meet on Wednesdays to go to the gym together, and sometimes on Saturdays. We never meet on Fridays. So, unless you somehow made changes to that, I don’t know what you are talking about,” Brienne rambles.

They have a schedule, a routine. She sticks to that schedule at all times. She never forgets about such meetings, ever. They didn’t plan for anything. So, there is no reason why he gets to be mad at her!

“I am talking about the invitation I sent you to which you didn’t even bother to respond. Which earned me waiting for almost an hour by the parking lot, waiting for you to swing by, only to find you here, shaking it up with that Wildling fellow,” Jaime tells her in a low voice.

“He is no Wildling, he has Wildling ancestry, there’s a difference,” Brienne replies drily. “Otherwise, that’s considered a racist statement, you know?”

Jaime throws his head back, letting out a dry, humorless laughter. “What do I _care_? You told me about the creep enough to get a general impression. I mean, licking mutton legs in front of people to show one’s endearment or want to fuck? The Wildling’s still strong in that guy’s gene pool, I’m sure. You can still count yourself lucky he didn’t club you in the back of the head to pull you into his cave.”

“That is totally beside the point and not the topic! I still don’t understand just why you’d think we had an appointment together. You never told me about changing plans or whatever else!” Brienne argues.

“Of course I did!” he insists.

“What?! No, you didn’t! What are you saying?”

“What are _you_ saying?! I sent you an invitation, and instead of just telling me that you won’t come, you don’t even answer your goddamn phone, so that I am making a fool of myself in the parking lot, waiting for the Maid of Tarth to finally make her way outside, freezing my ass off because it’s stupid February and the weather is just fucked up around here. Only to have to realize that the Maid of Tarth has _other_ plans and just didn’t bother to inform me!”

“Okay… to get this straight: I never received an invitation by you and I forgot my cell phone at home,” Brienne says in a calmer voice now, holding up her hands.

“… Seriously?” Jaime asks, his features easing for a moment, looking surprised.

“It happens on occasion, so yeah,” Brienne says.

“Well, you’ll have a bunch of missed calls and voicemails once you get home, then,” he huffs.

“Already looking forward to learning some new curse words, I assume.”

“You bet,” he chuckles, if a little tensed.

That is more of the Jaime she knows, but sadly, that doesn’t resolve the problem at hand here, namely that he seems to believe that he invited her to… some event, when in fact those news never reached her.

“That still doesn’t change anything about the fact that I never received an invitation. If you sent me a text, I didn’t get it… and in any case, just why didn’t you come by the office? Where were you anyway?!” Brienne asks, sounding much more desperate towards the end than she intended to.

Because she needed him here today, Seven Hells.

_And he was nowhere to be found, the bastard!_

“Stuck in a stupid meeting of all the share holders, which… includes me as the boss’s son and heir to the great Lannister Empire? Father doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day – at all. He is the equivalent to Scrooge is to Christmas, just that he won’t ever change his mind on the matter. Instead, I spent the whole damn day talking about the business plan for the next quarter period. I only got out when people headed out, back home – or to the party, respectively. Well, and your office was abandoned by the time I came down. So obviously, I thought, I should go to the check point I had told you to come to. Just that the Maid of Tarth didn’t show.”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself before you understand what I am saying? Jaime, I never got an invitation! Maybe you sent it and it didn’t reach me, I don’t know, but rest assured I never received your weird invitation.”

“Oh, go kid yourself, wench!”

“Don't call me wench!”

“I saw the invitation in your office. So could we stop that whole act at once? I mean, you could have just showed up to tell me, but no, now you can’t seem to find the guts, which is very unlike you, I may add.”

“Okay, just what part of ‘I didn’t get your invitation’ don’t you understand?”

“The part where the invitation is in your stupid office!” Jaime retorts.

“It’s not!” she insists.

“Yes, it is! C’mon, we will clarify this right now,” he says, grasping her by the wrist this time to pull her along. Brienne just stares as they stalk over to her office.

“There,” he says. “As I said.”

“… What? I don’t see… any invitation,” Brienne argues, looking around. Did she miss some note? But there is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“ _What_? Wow, okay, in case you didn’t notice this otherwise foreign object in your office until now,” Jaime says, extending his arm in a grandeur gesture to point to the parasitic entity still resting on her desk. “There.”

Brienne can do nothing but stare at the flowers again.

“That _invitation_. So now, another time, wench: How comes that you don’t show the basic level of sympathy that you expect from me the same way and at least tell me that you don’t want to attend?” Jaime grumbles, and this time, Brienne can hear that he is… earnestly feeling wounded, believing that she purposely deceived him.

“… Wait, you… you mean to tell me that you sent the flowers?!” Brienne gapes once the information really sinks in.

_Jaime sent the flowers._

_He sent the flowers._

_The flowers were by Jaime._

_Jaime sent the flowers!_

“OBVIOUSLY?!” he cries out. Brienne tilts her head from right to left rapidly as she makes a few steps over to him, extending her index finger to point at him. “No, wait, _not_ obviously! If you want people to know that you sent the flowers, you have to include a _card_ , you know? Because up to this point, I had to consider these flowers sent by some secret admirer!”

“Which is what I did. Which is where I put down my invitation!” Jaime snarls, but then stops himself, blinking, his expression changing in the blink of an eye. “As you… wait, _what_? There was no card?!”

“No, just the flowers. Nothing but the flowers,” Brienne says.

Just the bellflowers, lotuses, evening stars, lilacs, moonblooms, carnations, and gladioluses tied with a blue ribbon, in a simple glass vase.

“But I told them to include the card with the text I sent them,” Jaime insists, seemingly now also mulling that information over. “I checked three times to be sure that it was included in my online order. I wrote it down, and I called in another time to tell them specifically to not forget the card!”

“There was no card. I had no clue who sent the flowers, which is why I went to the party, hoping to maybe find out who sent them,” Brienne explains.

“So that is why you talked to Tormund?!”

“Apparently?” she replies with a frown.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Jaime growls, sounding annoyed.

“Because I wasn’t going to address the matter in front of him?!” Brienne retorts.

“Oh fuuuuuck,” Jaime grounds out, throwing his head back, running his long fingers through his golden hair.

“No, no, eyes on me now,” Brienne snaps. “Explain this to me! Why would you do such a thing?!”

“Why would I… you make it sound like it’s the most horrible thing on earth to receive flowers!” Jaime says with a frown as he focuses back on her.

“Because it damn well is, and you should know that! You are the only one I ever told about what happed back in high school and that this is why I hate Valentine’s Day as much as I do. Do you have any idea how fuckin’ _mean_ that is of you?!” Brienne curses, unable to stop herself now – because it all just comes to wash over her anew.

The humiliation of Ronnet laughing at her, making he a figure of mockery. The locker room. Her father clutching the steering wheel as he drove her home and wouldn’t stop poking for questions until he heard all of it.

Jaime was the first outside her family whom she ever dared to talk to about the matter. It was more of an accident that she even began. They were had gone to see a movie set in medieval times, because both enjoy these as well as fencing, so they learned. After the movie was over, they took a stroll through the park, over to where Brienne’s apartment is.

They came to talk about high school experiences, and for the first time in a long time, Brienne found herself at ease talking about it. Because Jaime somehow managed to ease the tension out of it. He joked about how he was basically seen as the high school jock, who’d excel in all kinds of sports, be the team captain in football, baseball, and basketball, but that he only later found out that they were whispering behind his back that he was only elected into those positions because of his family name, instead of recognizing that he was a skilled sportsman.

“It's just odd to realize that people weren’t laughing with you this whole time, but at you, or behind your back. The little shits normally laugh behind your back because they are still afraid of what you’ll do to them if you were to know the truth… Little did they know that I was well aware of these circumstances. I just never let it show. Father hammered that into our heads since we were small children. Lannister pride and all,” he told her as they walked through the park, side by side.

“He always told us not to concern ourselves with the opinion of the sheep. And I always told him that it didn’t bother me that they called me names and sniggered behind my back because they thought I was too wealthy or didn’t earn my achievements. Want to know the pitiful truth?” he went on. And Brienne only stared at him in the darkness, the moonlight barely dancing over the contours of his body. “I cared, cared a whole lot. I know, it sounds really pathetic and like luxury problems from a guy who’s been entitled to… everything, pretty much. And I don’t deny it. It's just… it still stung. I just never let the little shits know so that they didn’t feel like they won.”

And after that confession, Brienne’s story tumbled out of her mouth with a kind of ease she’s never known before. She told him of Ronnet and the rose, and she was surprised that he didn’t once laugh or make a comment, he listened silently, and once she was done, simply had one conclusion: “The guy can count himself lucky that he and I never met. Were I to see him some time in the future, be sure I would greet him with my fist in his face.”

She told him something so very private… and that is what makes Brienne ever the more furious now. He should know better. He should know what such a bouquet would mean to her. He should have known better! With or without card!

“ _Mean_?” Jaime repeats, taken aback by her statement.

“Yes, mean. You know what this means to me. And then you send me flowers for what I must assume was your funny way of inviting me to some sort of… Anti Valentine’s Day activity, had I received your card along with it. And _yes_ , that is mean! Because…,” she says, but then stops herself, ignoring the slightest of stings in her eyes, throbbing dully.

“I didn’t send them to you to make fun of you. Brienne, c’mon now, you know me. You know I wouldn’t do that to you. What are you saying?” Jaime insists, his eyes now almost begging, wounded, even.

“What am I supposed to believe? Do you have any idea what I went through thanks to this stupid bouquet? I spent the whole damn day being anxious, unproductive, and _terrified_ because I didn’t know who sent these flowers. I thought this was yet again someone trying to make fun of me, just like it was back in high school, after I thought that shit was finally put to rest now that I work a professional job. And then you asshole don’t show up at all so that I could ask you about this, which left me with no other choice but run an investigation of my own and go ask around the usual suspects I can at least assume are not repulsed enough by my looks to keep them from flirting with me and perhaps… using Valentine’s Day to make that known. Seriously, Jaime, couldn’t you just leave a stupid sticky note or so?” Brienne rambles, feeling more and more exhausted as she goes.

She gets it that this is a _bouquet_ of unfortunate events, linked together in a chain of misunderstandings. She gets that part, and for that, she cannot and would not blame Jaime, now that she knows.

_But why did he have to send flowers, on Valentine’s Day? Why? Just why?_

“Look, I didn’t know that they didn’t include the card,” Jaime argues.

“I get that, but still. Why do you have to send stupid flowers? You know what those mean to me,” Brienne replies.

“Well, had you received my invitation, you’d know by now that I am well aware of what they mean to you, and that _this_ is exactly why I chose to send you flowers anyway,” Jaime tells her.

“Now what? Please don’t tell me I got pity flowers! Jaime, _please_!” she cries out in exasperation. She knows he can be clumsy at times, which seems odd enough for a man as smooth as Jaime Lannister, but yes, he can be clumsy. Sometimes he doesn’t realize that he insults people, he really, earnestly doesn’t. Brienne grew accustomed to that fact and normally points it out to him when he is crossing the line, but even he should understand that pity flowers are putting her to shame.

He can’t be _that_ clumsy.

“ _No_ pity flowers! By the Seven! Do I really have to repeat the rules to you every damn time? Don't consider yourself worth any less than you are. You really think I’d send you pity flowers after hammering that into your stubborn skull for about a year?!” Jaime argues vehemently.

Part of Jaime playing love guru was to tell her such things over and over. When Brienne wanted to ask out some ugly-looking fellow who wasn’t even particularly kind to her, Jaime snapped at her that he wouldn’t allow her to date anyone below her. At first, Brienne had taken offense in it, but once she understood that he was trying to tell her that he valued her too much to see her date a guy… only just to date a guy, she understood that he meant to show her that she meant too much to him as a friend to let that happen.

“Then what are those?!” Brienne asks, pointing at the bouquet in utter exasperation.

“Other than flowers you mean?”

“Don’t try to be funny right now!” she snaps.

“I can’t help it that I am getting hilarious when nervous.”

“You are never nervous, c’mon,” Brienne huffs.

“In case you did not notice, yes, I am,” Jaime argues, pointing at himself. “For Lannister standards, making a scene is the equivalent of losing one’s shit, in case you didn’t know that by now.”

 _Well, then why are you constantly doing that when around me_?! she wants to curse, but then bites down the comment.

“Why would you be?” Brienne asks instead.

“Because the fact that I ordered the flowers from across the Narrow Sea came to bite me in the ass. Had they included the card, then I wouldn’t have to spell that out to you right now, which is awkward enough due to… this entire fuck-up of a situation. I mean, look at us! We are yelling at each other over a flower bouquet!”

“You are telling me?!” Brienne shrieks.

“That’s what I am talking about,” Jaime says, gesturing at her. Brienne balls her fists, and takes a few deep breaths.

She has to calm down. They both have to.

“Okay, you’ll have bear with me for a moment. I didn’t… prepare for such a thing. I prepared for quite another scenario,” Jaime tells her.

Brienne just looks at him. He is _really_ nervous.

_Jaime Lannister… **nervous**. There seems to be a first time for everything! _

“Remind me to never order flowers from _Meereen Magnolias_ again. I should have just stuck to the Tyrells, but _of course_ , I want to be sure that I get really exotic looking flowers that have least resemblance with roses.”

“Huh?” Brienne blurts out, blinking at him rapidly.

“As you said, I am well aware of what that asshole did to you back in high school. So, I wanted to be sure that you get a flower bouquet without _any_ roses. And _Highgarden Flowers_ normally… always includes roses, because it’s their specialty. But anyways, the point is that I sent you the flowers in all earnest,” Jaime tells her.

“You… sent me flowers… in all earnest… on Valentine’s Day… You, Jaime Lannister, self-proclaimed nemesis to this very holiday,” Brienne says slowly, almost choking on the words.

“Apparently yes,” he grumbles.

Brienne bends over as she just starts laughing hysterically. This is utterly ridiculous, and if she didn’t know better, she’d still believe that this was a nightmare and she’d wake up from it if only she pinched herself hard enough.           

But this… is real.

“Glad to know that someone is having fun here, wench.”

“I… I am sorry,” Brienne gulps as she straightens back up. “I didn’t… that wasn’t because of you or… _at_ you. It’s… I mean, this is just ridiculous… _right_?!”

“It isn’t ridiculous to me… I mean, _fine_ , the situation itself… ridiculous much. I mean, how many unfortunate events can you stuff into one Valentine’s Day, right?” he asks, a small smirk now flitting across his face as well. “We make one ridiculous bunch, no way of denying it.”

“No way of denying it, no.”

“Well… that doesn’t change anything about the fact that the invitation didn’t reach you. So now… even at the risk of making a fool of myself: I wanted to ask you out on a date in a totally cliché-laden way,” Jaime goes on to say, leaving Brienne with her mouth standing wide open in shock. “A… date, as in date-date.”

“I always find it funny how people tend to refer to it as date-date, as though doubling the word made it more of a date,” Jaime snorts. “But anyway, yes, a _date-date_. I mean, I made sure that it’s not one of those restaurants that have heart-shaped festoons everywhere, but a nice, quiet restaurant with good food. That was the plan. And I sent the flowers with the card to announce just that. Well, apparently, that card got lost, which means someone over in Essos will get a very angry phone call tomorrow.”

Brienne just tilts her head to the side, her mouth seemingly having stopped operating, just like her mind. It all just rains down on her.

“… Something broken?” Jaime asks, mirroring her movement.

“Possibly?” she brings out under much effort.

“Well, no way of fixing that damage now anyway,” Jaime huffs. “But yeah. I wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“… And why would you do such a thing?” she asks hesitantly.

“Why would I… okay, Brienne, you tell me, why do people invite other people to go on a date on Valentine’s Day?”

“Don't act like I am stupid, alright? I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

“And that is always the issue with you. You overthink… _everything_. Which is endearing at some point, but at other times, it makes me want to just gently knock you on the head until you stop it,” Jaime exhales wearily.

“You dare to do that once and I’m going to knock you to the ground.”

“I am aware,” Jaime snorts, amused. “But… to give more fuel to your overthinking: I did that because the sweet yet painful realization smacked me across the face that I like you and want to date you.”

“Smacked you across the face?” Brienne repeats with a frown.

_That’s not what you usually get to hear from a guy confessing that he is into you, right?_

Yeah, she tends to attract the weird type, as it appears, even though… Brienne still cannot even fathom that this may be some strange sort of reality. Jaime Lannister, likely the most handsome man she has ever seen in her entire life, smart, educated, entitled, athletic… is into her?

_How is that even possible?_

Brienne said bye-bye to her cheap romance novel fantasies and stopped chasing those “happy endings” or rather, “happy endings with a prospect of an even happier future”. Because Brienne always hated the notion that the books stopped after they confessed their love to each other and never had them work through a relationship. Falling in love is easy enough, maintaining a relationship based on respect is quite another thing, and actually the stuff that makes a relationship last for long.

And Brienne should know, keeping up her friendship with Jaime was more than a fight. It was war half the time.

Her father always says that what made him and her mother such a strong couple was not that he was head-over-heels for her from the beginning, but that they kept fighting the whole time. Or, as he put it, “One of the best things about being with your mother was to argue with her. How boring would it have been if we had agreed on everything? And that made reconciling ever the sweeter.”

 “Yes, that’s the best way of describing it. Falling for you is like falling down a deep, deep cliff,” Jaime tells her with a grimace.

“… You suck at making compliments,” Brienne blurts out saying.

“It wasn’t intended as such,” Jaime argues. “I meant to point out that it’s _tough_. Because you are so marvelously clueless most of the time. Just like I am, which doesn’t really help the cause, I may add. The point is that with you, it's hard to get such messages across. Because we are so deeply in the friends-hole that there seems to be no way to climb out of it.”

“You compare… friendship to holes, really?” Brienne says with a blank expression. “And I swear by the Seven above, if you make a joke about glory holes next, I am going to punch you.”

“Are we going to have an argument about my choice of metaphor now really?”

“Go on,” she replies, rolling her eyes at him.

“Most kind of you, my lady,” he sighs with a smirk. “As I was about to say: I mean, consider this, when I mentioned to you tonight that I wanted to ask you out on a date, your first thought was that I am talking about going to the _gym_ or so. For you, it doesn’t even compute that I mean a date-date when I say ‘date’. You see the issue?”

“Are you trying to blame _me_ now for this?”

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am trying to get a point across, namely that you consider me… so much of a friend that you apparently can’t seem to see me in any other way, which makes it hard to transmit the message that I don’t see you in that light alone, at least not anymore.”

“You never made any such intentions known before. I mean, c’mon, Jaime. You helped me get dates, okay? You proclaimed yourself a love guru wanting to teach me the ways of the other sex. To quote _you_. That is _not_ how you signal a woman you may be interested in… that you are interested in… her,” Brienne insists.

He was the one who offered her to help her with the dates. If he had wanted something from her, he wouldn’t have done it.

_There is just no way…_

“As I said, I am about as clueless as you are when it comes to these things. I told you often enough that you are likely the first female close friend I ever had. The thing is that by the time I started this _project_ , I was unaware, oblivious… an idiot.”

“That seems to be your general state of existence.”

“Ha. Funny, almost funny right there, wench. So now, to break it down for you: It started out quite simple with me wanting to… be a good friend to you. And because I couldn’t stand the thought that you either dated no one believing that no one would want you, or date absolute shits way below you.”

Brienne blinks.

However odd it may seem, those words mean a whole lot to her, more than she can even say at this point. That he sees so much value in her… Brienne is used to otherwise for a long, long time now.

Normally, she was always getting told that she shouldn’t have too high standards and take the next-best guy who would see past her looks. Jaime is the only one who ever told her that it was alright for her to have a “standard”, whatever that may be. That she doesn’t just settle for a guy who likes her well enough.

“Well, but soon enough I had to realize that I might just as well have punched myself in the crotch instead. Because I grew more jealous the further this went on. And because I was the one who started it, I couldn’t say anything, so instead I had to listen to you telling me all those details and even commenting on this and encouraging you on tops. When in fact my entire being was fighting against this like a parasite,” Jaime says, exhaling through his nostrils in frustration.

“Jealous,” Brienne repeats, still trying to process, to comprehend… but failing more or less miserably.

“Yes, _jealous_. You have _no_ idea how much self-restraint it took me not to rip some guy’s face off whenever I saw you with one of them. I tend to be quite possessive, in case you didn’t know.”

“But… why did you… continue with that whole thing? I mean…,” Brienne stammers.

“Well, what a shit move would it have been of me to just stop and call this offer off, after you seemed to come to appreciate it after all? Because yes, no matter how jealous that made me, my initial wish to help my best friend _was_ genuine. Just because I start being funny in my feelings for you doesn’t mean I have to drag you into it. Well, that was my thought. You see, I am… quite lousy when it comes to picking out my partners. I gave you some of the very dim highlights. So I thought I would just… wait and see. I didn’t want to screw up our friendship. For that it means too much to me. I thought this would work… it didn’t. Because I just grew more jealous, and it took me about all of my self-constraint to not just take you and kiss you to make you shut up when you told me about your _date achievements_.”

Brienne can do nothing much but stare as Jaime’s anger and frustration pours out of him right before her eyes.

So that is the reason why he acted so oddly as of late.

“So… I said to myself… you know what? Let’s chance it. I was being a major pain in the ass to you in a while anyway, I _am_ aware of that, but that was thanks to that whole situation. Well, if being like that puts a strain on our relationship, then I thought saying it… may actually not be the worst of all options available, or at least better than _this_. I was proven _very_ wrong about the matter, but that was the set-up, in a nutshell,” Jaime goes on to say, and while he still seems agitated, it seems like his movements are lighter now, as though a heavy weight was removed from his shoulders, dispersing into thin air.

“But why did you… send a bouquet? I mean… you could have just _talked_ to me. I don't understand that whole… fuss.”

“I made that _fuss_ because I wanted to honor the old traditions to make my intentions _absolutely_ clear. To leave absolutely _no_ doubt in what I mean by this. Because sending a woman flowers on Valentine’s Day asking her out on a date… should be stereotypical enough to be straightforward even for someone as overthinking as you. Well, apparently, the exact opposite happened, because of that stupid missing card. But had you gotten my card, you would have known, or at least you would have gotten a general idea. And then I would have explained the rest to you while sitting in a fancy restaurant. _That_ was the plan. And without meaning to parade myself, the plan was pretty solid up to this point.”

“But… _flowers_.”

_Why the flowers? Of all options available – why flowers?_

He also could have written a fancy card if need be. Or something… _other_ than that. Why would he choose the one thing he knows has a _problematic symbolism_ for her?  

“I wanted to do something nice and show you that a guy who _really_ means it will get you flowers and all that sappy kind of stuff I would usually rather do without. Or as it said in my card, ‘ _Because, for you, I even suffer through Valentine’s Madness’_. I wanted to turn this… into something good for you, so that you are no longer… how do you say? _Allergic to flowers_? So yeah, I thought going the old-fashioned way would help me achieve that, to… make you change perception. In the end, that is what screwed everything up a whole lot more,” he says, raking his long fingers through his hair, then over the side of his face.

He looks at her for long moment, almost wearily now. “So… you know what? If you want to call this off right now… I really understand. That is… _such_ a mess and I can’t believe that I seemingly got so rusty in my romantic skills over the years that I can’t even seem to manage gifting someone flowers on Valentine’s Day.”

Brienne doesn’t know what is happening until she feels herself moving forward, one step, two steps, then three, and pressing her lips to Jaime’s almost with desperation, her hands trying to find some place to go, some place to stay, eventually coming to rest on his shoulder and the side of his throat, feeling the flutter of his pulse rising the moment they make contact.

There is a rush in her ears, a wave rising in her chest, washing out all those nagging voices resonating in the back of her head most of the time. The eagerness with which he returns the kiss ring louder in her ears than any reassurance of his ever could, hushing her constant companions of doubt and insecurity away, whispering at her “but do you really think he likes you or just your wealth?”, “don’t you think you’re rushing it? Don’t you think you’re destroying it?”, “what if it’s just a jape? A joke?”, “what if it’s just like it was with Ronnet or with Hyle?”.

Because… while Brienne could always roll her eyes when he drops that line, it remains true: There are no men like him.

Jaime wouldn’t ever do to her what folks like Ronnet did to her. He may be up for teasing her without abandon, but Jaime wouldn’t ever do such a thing.

It’s odd, really, that suddenly you know something with such certainty, such clarity, as though it was a looking glass swimming up before your eyes, clearing your vision at once. And that this is something you couldn’t even fathom a few moments back.

However, the clarity comes from the plain and simple fact that it’s Jaime. And Jaime wouldn’t lie to her in such a way, he wouldn’t ever treat her like that, and that is what hushes those nagging voices away, puts them behind a door, locks it, and throws the key away.

Seemingly, her father had the rights of it – fighting is essential.

She pulls away once her lungs are aching for air, and she cannot remember the last time she had such a deep and satisfactory kiss. Her heart is fluttering, her pulse is racing, chest heaving, the tips of her fingers feel as though electricity ran right through them wherever they make contact with Jaime.

The whispers are replaced by a pleasant humming and whooshing, mixing with the sound of her own heartbeat and breath to an unrecognizable rhythm that is nevertheless so strong that she feels like her entire body pulsates with every beat.

“Well, that… was unexpected, I will admit,” Jaime says with a crooked grin, flashing his white teeth as he sucks in air in sharp breaths.

Brienne grimaces, embarrassed. She is usually not the one to make advances.

_Was this too rushed?_

Did she…

“Whatever you are thinking right now, stop that,” Jaime murmurs low in his throat.

“What?” she asks, blinking.

“I can see the doubt rising above your head in a tiny cloud, Brienne,” he tells her. “There’s _really_ no need.”

And that is the other thing. Jaime is likely the only one she ever shared such intimate stories such as her high school trauma with, at the same time, he is one of the few people who get her, who _really_ get her, understand her, even when she doesn’t understand herself at times. 

It’s odd to realize that the man you fought for months and months is actually… your confidant, the guy you can call up late at night to watch a movie together because you had a rough day and need company.

To emphasize his point, Jaime slings his arm around her thick waist to pull her closer to him, not allowing her to slip away from him by only just an inch. And Brienne just finds herself moving along. While her mind still didn’t catch up to all information just yet, her body seems to hold the answers her head is still eagerly pondering.

“I like those kinds of surprises, you know?” he goes on, flashing a crooked smirk. Though Brienne can see that behind the faintest of masks of sarcasm, the nervousness is just bleeding out of him with every second passing.

_Jaime Lannister… nervous._

That is still something Brienne has to grasp – and preserve for later. One cannot underestimate the value of such blackmail material.

“I just… ugh, took the initiative?” Brienne replies uncertainly. Jaime chuckles, the laughter rumbling deep in his chest. “I quite like it when you _take the initiative_. I think you should do that more often in the future. Might save us quite some trouble, after all.”

Brienne bites the inside of her cheek, waiting for a moment, two.

 _Nothing_.

No voices mocking her, no past images swimming up before her eyes. They are all just gone, at least for now, and hopefully for a while longer. So long she looks at him, holds his gaze, nothing else seems to matter anymore.

“In the future?” she repeats, trying to ease into the situation, back into… what makes their relationship what it is – a constant fight, without ever breaking away, no matter what happens.

Because Jaime is the person she feels most at ease with, even if he loves to tease her and make her uncomfortable… even in that lies a strange sort of comfort, a familiarity, a closeness that only they share.

“Well, yes. Or is honorable Brienne of Tarth about to reveal to me that she was just up for a Valentine’s Tease?” he chuckles.

“No, just wondering that you seem to have… future plans,” Brienne stammers.

“Nah, no plans just yet, simply some… _ideas_.”

“Ideas.”

“Some of which are _very_ vivid,” he says with a dark grin, pressing his hand more firmly to her waist.

“I don’t like that dirty tone right there,” Brienne tells Jaime, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You’re going to get used to it.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Of course you are. Soon enough, you will share in those ideas, I am pretty certain about that,” he laughs.

“And what makes you certain about that?”

This time, Jaime is the one to initiate the kiss, and if it is even possible, the kiss is even deeper this time. Brienne can feel the gooseflesh dancing over her skin as Jaime’s hands run down her sides, her breath hitching as she exhales into his mouth.

“ _This_ , I'd say.”

“Don't overestimate yourself,” Brienne brings out, though her voice is most definitely betraying her.

“I am likely the best match you ever had.”

“And who knows if you haven’t seen to that by having me date losers?” Brienne huffs.

“I can’t help it that you have a crappy taste in men.”

“Neither can I help it that you have a crappy taste in women.”

“Well, I think I may be on the right track now,” Jaime argues, holding her closer.

“That is still to be determined.”

“Aha? You mean that I still have to prove myself worthy, is that it?” Jaime replies, amused.

To think that someone the likes of Jaime Lannister would even question if he is worthy of her… worthy of her… Brienne still has to get used to that phrase, because there lies no mockery in it.

Sometimes the truths we are seeking lie right before us, and we only know once we get it shoved into our faces, as it appears. Or rather, once we get a parasite planted into the office to pull us out of our daily routine to open our eyes to the reality before us all this time.

“Nah, you just have to prove that you can act civilly enough so that I don't constantly have to hit you,” Brienne replies, offering a small smile.

“I think we should be able to manage that.”

“We’ll have to see.”

“So? What do you say? Do you still want to go to the restaurant? We could still go,” Jaime suggests. Brienne looks around. “Well, unless you insist, I don’t necessarily want to, to be honest.”

“What do you suggest instead?” he questions. Brienne licks her lips before flashing another smile, and each smile seems to feel lighter. “Believe it or not, I managed to get my hands on a DVD of The Long Night, the original version.”

“No way!” he says cheerily.

“ _Way_. I actually wanted to tell you this morning, but you were MIA,” Brienne explains, amused and relieved to sink back into their routine. Because that means that their friendship is still there, even with that revelation now added to the mix.

“And of course you had to hiss at the flowers.” He grins.

“I did _not_ hiss at them. Why do people keep assuming that I hiss at plants?” Brienne cries out in exasperation.

“Because people know by now that you can have very strong reactions to things messing up your order,” Jaime tells her.

“If that is so, one should ask oneself how I ever came to befriend you. You always bring chaos,” Brienne snorts.

“Just the amount of chaos you need. How boring would your life be without me messing it up here and there?” Jaime chuckles. “Needless to mention that I also _fix_ some other things.”

His hand starts to wander again.

“… DVD night yes or no?” she quips.

“Do I get exclusive Valentine’s Bonuses?”

“What would that mean?” Brienne frowns.

“Well, I got you flowers, you ditched dinner, I think I deserve some kind o reward for that,” Jaime goes on to explain.

“Reward,” Brienne repeats, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I think we can negotiate those terms once we get there, though,” he adds.

“You go on believing that.”

“I can be _very_ convincing. Hells, convincing people is what I do for a living!” he laughs. “And even if not, I always manage to convince you of pretty much anything, no matter how stubbornly you oppose it at first.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Remember that trip to Highgarden you didn’t want to make? I talked you into it.”

“I went with you out of _pity_. That’s a _huge_ difference.”

Gods no why she ever agreed. Because Jaime insisted on travelling like “the common folk” and take the train. Brienne almost had a cramp in her leg because of missing leg room.

“Actually, no, I wanted you to go, so you came with me.”

“If that is what you want to believe,” she huffs.

“Well, in any case…,” he says, his voice trailing off. “I think we really should head out. Little time from now, the first _Valentine’s Zombies_ will take their leave.”

“Zombies?” Brienne repeats with a grimace.

“You have _no_ clue what that punch they serve does to people, which is why we tend to refer to it as _Pink Poison_. The mixture is toxic and almost inevitably leads to people walking around the bullpen, not knowing who they are… and in some cases not even _what_ they are… I still vividly remember that one time Janos Slynt thought he was a crow and sat down on one of the thin walls to caw, only to fall down like a brick and break his nose… so yes, _Valentine’s Zombie Apocalypse_ much.”

“Then we should really rather leave,” Brienne agrees. She grabs her bag and both start to walk down the hallway leading to the exit.

At some point, Jaime stops in his tracks. Brienne turns to him, a frown forming on her face.

“Oh, but before we can escape the _Pink Pestilence_ , I have one important question to ask you,” Jaime argues, raising his index finger at her.

“What now? I thought we had enough revelations for a day.” She grimaces.

“This is really, really important!” he insists.

“Then just say it already.”

“Brienne?” he says in a dramatic voice. “Will you be my Valentine?”

“I don't think so,” she replies promptly. Jaime looks at her, feigning shock. “What?! Woman, you can’t leave me hanging here like that after we went through such Valentine’s Disaster together?”

“I think I can, and I think I will.”

“You are cruel!” he pouts.

“You knew that before you started that Valentine’s Charade.”

“So you kiss me on Valentine’s Day, but you won’t be my Valentine? What kind of logic is that?”

“Why does it have to follow strict logic? Wasn’t it you who told me that I should not always overthink things?” Brienne argues.

“That doesn’t mean you can just stop making sense!”

“You’ll figure it out anyway,” Brienne says, waving with her hand, as she starts to walk again. He follows her promptly.

“Obviously I will,” Jaime chuckles. “Figuring you out is on the top of my priority list.”

“See?” she snorts.

“I still demand of you to accept the title of being my Valentine. We need to stick to some traditions here, woman,” he says, to which she can only frown. “Why would you care?”

“I am an old-fashioned man! If our getting together is _that_ unconventional, there is ever the more a reason to stick to those traditions in other regards.”

“I don’t think so,” Brienne replies, shaking her head.

“Well, that means I will have to convince you of that as well,” Jaime says, his voice growing darker and darker. And that is when Brienne can feel his hand running down her spine.

“You try anything below the belt, and you earn yourself a smack to the hand.”

“The hand wants what the hand wants,” he whistles.

“The hand better stays where it is right now.”

“Little time ago, you _quite_ liked that.”

“Not when we are still at the office where people can see us,” Brienne argues.

“What? You deny our union of love already, dearest?” he asks, with faux exasperation.

“I think we would have to date-date at least once or twice before we carry the news to the colleagues, don’t you think?” Brienne argues.

“Well, tonight is our official first date-date, so maybe by Monday?”

“Someone is eager, huh?”

“You have _no_ idea,” he growls low in his throat.

“What did I say about the hand?” Brienne shrieks once she can feel his hand roaming… _deeper_.

“You can’t blame me! I have been restraining myself all this time, wench! I have needs, woman, needs that require _satisfaction_.”

“The hand still stays put.”

“You take the fun out of things."

“You have to learn patience.”

“I have been patient long enough. Now is time to reap the fruit and enjoy its oh so sweet taste.”

“Seriously?”

“ _Very_ seriously. About you? I am _absolutely_ serious."

* * *

 

  **One year later**

Brienne sits in her office chair, lazily twisting in it.

If everything goes according to plan, they should get out of the office before the _Valentine’s Madness_ begins and people get drunk on _Pink Poison_.

Because _no_ , Brienne has no intention of ever attending such festivity again. Last year taught her. Sansa later on informed her that apparently, both Hyle and Tormund got so drunk on _Pink Poison_ that they started stripping, wanting to initiate a polonaise.

A polonaise _obviously_ no one but themselves joined.

The sound of someone stomping down the hallway snaps Brienne out of her thoughts. She sits up as Jaime strides in, his eyes narrow slits. “Wench!”

“Present?” she says, raising her hand.

“Would you care to explain to me what that thing on my desk was supposed to be?” he snaps, motioning closer.

“It’s Valentine’s Day!” Brienne insists, trying her best to hide her smile.

“I _am_ aware,” Jaime says, coming closer, only to put the _corpus delicti_ down on her desk with a thud. “A cactus, Brienne. Seriously? A _cactus_?”

“It’s a pretty cactus! It even has a flower on top, in Lannister red no less,” Brienne argues, pointing at the plant with red ribbon.

There are those moments when she cannot quite believe it herself how much at ease she feels now, because she didn’t always, didn’t in a long time, but as of late… she is comfortable enough bickering even more with Jaime, even in public… just like there are signs of affection now openly exchanged.

Yet again something that was quite scandalous to Brienne, to think that a man would even specifically ask for it, demand it, grasp her hand before they walked into the office, because it wasn’t just important to her, but to Jaime likewise.

“For someone who normally acts so shy, though of course we both know you are _anything but_ that, your spiteful smile is giving away the game far too easily,” Jaime snorts.

“It _is_ a pretty cactus. I like it,” Brienne argues.

“Look, I get the whole joke… no card attached, just like last year. Ha-ha. Very funny of you, but why a _cactus_? C’mon, that’s low.”

“Oh, speaking of which…,” Brienne says, producing a small card from under her desk to hold out to him. Jaime snaps it from her with a slightly amused grin.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jaime reads out. “That’s… all? Hm, I expected at least more than a one-word sentence, but I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from your present this year around. I mean, a cactus and a card saying only ‘yes’? I think you little minx are just mocking me and my efforts.”

“I am not,” Brienne insists.

While both tend to joke about their odd get-together, Brienne still holds that night very dear, very close in her memory.

“Of course you are.”

“Didn’t I tell you about that tradition?”

“What tradition?” he asks with a frown.

“Oh well, there is a tradition on Tarth. When you move into a new house, people will bring you plants. And you have to make sure they survive as long as possible, or else it means great misfortune and that you won’t stay there for long.”

“I have people watering my plants for me so that they don’t die,” Jaime argues.

“I am aware that you are a spoiled Lannister heir,” she huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Needless to mention that you come to enjoy the merits and luxuries of that circumstance as well,” Jaime adds.  

And he does have a point there. While Brienne is wealthy herself, coming from an old royal House, the Lannister House obviously surpasses that by far. So yes, she enjoys the little-big luxuries. Such as a weekend trip just for the fun of it… though upon reflection, they barely left the hotel room.

“In any case… I don’t think you can kill off that poor little cactus. You practically don't have to water it… _ever_. That is one of the most endurable cactuses there are.”

“My, my, Brienne, I must say, you are growing more and more confident with every day passing. Is it perhaps that my _ministrations_ are finally coming to fruition?” Jaime chuckles, winking at her.

“Oh, shut your dirty mouth.”

“I have no intention to, unless you make me. And I may add that I didn’t get any endearment from you today,” he mewls.

“You had a business meeting with the Martells, I was busy with coordinating the upcoming project,” Brienne points out to him.

“Gods, don’t remind me. I want to punch Oberyn half the time, the arrogant asshole,” he grumbles, throwing his head back.

“I thought that this would be why you two would get along?”

“Nah, my ego doesn’t allow me to like other arrogant people. For that I am too arrogant in turn.”

“Makes sense.”

“ _In any case_ , I am pinched, emaciated of affection because you did not deliver. I mean, you didn’t even bother to swing by for a coffee and a kiss,” Jaime goes on to lament.

_And yet again.. who could have guessed?_

Who could have guessed that this would be her reality now? When back in high school, back with her Septa, Brienne was led to believe that there would be no guy for her who would be eager for her, who would want her… _because_ it’s her.

“We kissed in the morning before we got to work,” she argues.

“But not while we were at work. We work here eight hours a day, woman. You can’t leave me on cold turkey like that. On Valentine’s Day no less.”

“You are being overly dramatic.”

“As I should be! You got me a stupid cactus,” Jaime goes on pouting.

“Don't insult the cactus.”

“I insult that cactus all I want. Though I do hope that you will make up for it once we get home. I have plans with you tonight,” he tells her, raising a suggestive eyebrow at her.

“Is that so?” she replies coolly.

“That is so, yes,” Jaime says, moving closer so that he is standing between her sitting in her chair and the desk. “And after you already screwed up all of my plans last Valentine’s Day, you will have to listen to whatever I have to say.”

“Who decided that?”

“I did.”

“And I got no say?”

“No,” he says, leaning down. “You can hand in a letter of complaint tomorrow… that is if you can even stand after I am done with you.”

“Will you cut that out?” she grounds out.

“You know I won’t, let’s not even pretend,” Jaime huffs. “C’mon now, we’re going to my place tonight. Everything is set up – and I am _aching_ to show you.”

“Oh Gods.”

“The Gods won’t help you tonight,” he declares dramatically.

“You are awful,” Brienne grunts.

“Yeah, I tend to screw you up, I am aware,” he chuckles.

“You didn’t ask me yet what the card meant,” Brienne says, interrupting his verbal teases, even though he remains in his spot, knowing very well that this makes Brienne uncomfortable – that's the reason why he does it, after all.

“Well, since your card only involved a single word, I am pretty sure of the content of the message. And I tend to interpret it along the lines of you saying yes to my plans for tonight, over at my apartment… where I will have to find a spot for that cactus of yours.”

“ _Our_ apartment,” Brienne corrects him with a shy smile.

“What now?” Jaime frowns, looking at her.

“Well, remember what you asked me a couple of weeks ago? ‘Yes’ is my answer to that, which is what it says on my card,” Brienne goes on.

Jaime blinks at her, but then a smile spreads across his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes to make them beam as though they lit up. “You mean… So Brienne of Tarth makes a tender step forward in the relationship at last and moves in with me?”

“That’s what it means, yes. So you better don’t kill that cactus,” Brienne replies with a bit of uncertainty.

She is still not completely comfortable showing those deeper-reaching signs of affection, but Brienne grows more and more confident – because, or so she realized by now, she can be confident. Because it’s Jaime. She can be confident with him because he is earnest with her.

“Oh, I will tend to it daily. I may not pet it, because I don’t want to get bloody hands from its thorns, but I wouldn’t ever want to bring bad omens upon us. Ha! I will have to row back. This is a wonderful Valentine’s Day present! I mean, not surpassing mine, _obviously_ , but… I am _very_ glad about it,” he says, before he leans in to kiss her, pushing her back in her chair, breathing into her mouth greedily as his tongue darts into hers, exploring the familiar territories anew.

She mewls into his mouth, her body long since familiar to his touches and advances, though he still tends to surprise her, in almost all aspects of life.

His mouth leaves hers, kissing a trail from the corner of her mouth, down the thick line of her neck, one hand creeping from her hip to sneak beneath her blouse to touch the exposed skin there.

“What… did I say about doing such things… in the office?” Brienne says between sharp intakes of air, betraying any defiance she may put up otherwise as her body reacts to every of his touches by leaning into it.

“That we should not. But I disagree with that, strongly.”

“Jaime!” she cries out, a blush creeping up the side of her neck to rest on her cheeks.

“What? By the copying machines, you agreed, wholeheartedly,” Jaime argues.

“That was _once_ ,” she insists.

“And very memorable no less. But there was also that other time in the storage room,” he goes on, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

“And in my office,” he goes on, peppering her with kisses.

“Stop it now! You just see how much of a bad influence you are on me,” Brienne pouts, though Jaime has no intention of moving away. “Oh, no, I am all kinds of good influence on you! I coax out the real Brienne.”

“The real Brienne?” she repeats, frowning.

“The one that’s not as shy as she acts in front of all those losers and nobodies,” he points out to her.

And there is actually some bigger underlying truth to that, Brienne knows. Because she feels more and more like herself, feels more at ease with herself, when she is around him.

“We will not have sex in my office right now, get that out of your head right now. You said that the _Valentine’s Apocalypse_ is something we should stay away from.”

He moans in frustration, lips still pressed to the side of her neck. “But a quickie may fit in before the _Valentine’s Zombies_ come to roam and destroy the bullpen?”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

“I thought you had other plans anyway?”

“I was trying to be spontaneous.”

“Curiously, you are only ever spontaneous when it comes to… these kinds of things.”

“So?” Jaime shrugs. Brienne pushes against his shoulder. “Up now, c’mon. I want to head out before the guys start a polonaise.”

“That dance was sent from hell,” Jaime moans.

“You tell me,” Brienne snorts, grabbing her bag while Jaime picks up the cactus. After that, they steal out of the office.

“So… I bet you are aching to know what awaits you in my, I mean _our_ apartment,” Jaime says as they walk down the hallways.

_Just like last time… some things just never change._

And Brienne is glad for it.

“I think you are aching to tell me.”

“On the contrary, I am only aching for two things: One, having you guess and squirm in anticipation, and two… you,” he says in a low voice.

“That was definitely not smooth,” Brienne snorts.

“Smoothness is overrated. I like bumps and edges. That makes everything a whole lot more interesting in my humble opinion,” Jaime says, giving her a dirty grin that leaves little to interpretation, before he calls out in a more jovial tone. “So anyway, what would you guess?”

“I don’t want to guess.”

“Of course you do,” Jaime argues.

“No, I don’t.”

“But what if it is something _very_ scandalous?” he teases.

“Then I am going back to my apartment.”

“But sweetheart, we are officially moving in together now!” Jaime cries out.

“And if you keep acting like a jerk, I may reconsider,” she warns him, though Brienne finds the smile creep back up her face.

If that is her kind of story she used to dream herself into back in high school, even if consists of constant banter, fighting back and forth over little and big nothings, blown out of proportion, then… Brienne can very well live with that sort of open ending.

Because it still stands more or less at the beginning.

They have been moving slowly, hesitantly at times. In other aspects… they went right ahead by contrast, much to Jaime’s… let’s say enjoyment. It’s far from fairytale-like, Brienne knows, but that is also something she learned to appreciate. Less pressure, more ease, more of… them being themselves without having to fit into certain structures.

Perhaps the greatest upside is that Brienne finds herself really embracing what she normally just projected to the outside as a matter of self-defense: To give others the feeling she doesn’t care for what they think. Because deep inside, she always cared, she just didn’t let it show that the mockery affected her.

After she allowed herself to let the mask fall in high school, weeping in the locker room, Brienne had grown accustomed to not showing it when things affected her. She may have called people out on it a number of times, but she wouldn’t let them know how deeply it wounded her more often than she’d like to admit.

But now? Brienne truthfully finds herself… not really caring what others think of her, of him, of them together. When people refer to them as an “odd couple”, Brienne no longer feels… much of anything. What do they know and why should she care?

Those are thoughts she didn’t have maybe a year ago.

But now? Now there is certainty within her where there used to be ambivalence and hesitation.

And a year back, Brienne never would have seen herself in such a situation, in such a chapter of her life story.

And truth be told? She cannot complain about that turn of events.

“You made a solemn vow, with a card and a cactus,” Jaime reminds her, pulling Brienne out of her thoughts. She looks at him sternly. “I swear to the Seven above, if it’s anything you and I both know Tyrion keeps musing about after having read his dirty magazines, I won’t even look at you ever again.”

“You cannot leave me! You are my Valentine!” Jaime cries out, feigning exasperation, clasping at his shirt.

“Just say what it is. Then I can see if I am sleeping over at my apartment or not.”

“Not going to happen. You will have to come and see…,” he says, leaning in closer. “And _feel_.”

“Jaime!”

“Yeah, that is something I can already spoil. You shouting that word will be quite frequent tonight,” he snickers.

“You are terrible.”

“Says the woman who gave me a cactus for Valentine’s Day. If I have to suffer, so do you,” Jaime points out to her, holding up his index finger. “Or rather, if you make me suffer, you have to make up for it – because I am most certain that what I have planned for you will be hardly suffering… but much more pleasurable.”

“Hey, I suffered already last Valentine’s Day,” Brienne huffs. “You could consider this poetic justice.”

“And I surely made it up to you by now. And I will repeat it again, in case you forgot, what I did was by accident, one for which I cannot be blamed because the company screwed up and forgot to attach the card. That cactus, by contrast, was on purpose.”

“What’s the obsession with the cactus?” She frowns. Jaime’s smirk morphs into that of a Cheshire Cat as he goes on to say after a long pause, “It’s… phallic.”

“Oh Gods!” Brienne shouts, slapping the flat of her hand against her forehead.

Only Jaime Lannister will read that message into a cactus.

Brienne knows that shouldn’t come as a surprise, but still, he catches her off-guard more often than she’d like to.

“That’s another phrase that I think will reoccur tonight, you know?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he teases. “With kisses, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Forget it.”

“I never forget anything.”

“You forgot our lunch date last week.”

“I didn’t forget it, I thought it was a different time.”

“You tell that yourself.”

“And I already apologized!”

“Half-heartedly.”

“I always act with all of my heart when around you.”

“If you think that gets you any bonus points, you are gravely mistaken.”

“I try my best. Nobody’s perfect. I mean, my body is pretty perfect, but…”

“Are you yet done musing about yourself?”

“Hey, don’t act like you don’t appreciate the view… or the haptic.”

“Will you ever stop?”

“Never.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, a promise.”

 

**The End**


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